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WHEN passion's trance is overpast,
If tenderness and truth could last,
Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep
Some mortal slumber, dark and deep,
I should not weep, I should not weep!


It were enough to feel, to see

Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly,

And dream the rest and burn and be

The secret food of fires unseen,

Couldst thou but be as thou hast been.


After the slumber of the year

The woodland violets reappear;
All things revive in field or grove,

And sky and sea, but two, which move
And form all others, life and love.

To. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.



THE flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;

All that we wish to stay,

Tempts and then flies.

What is this world's delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.


Virtue, how frail it is!

Friendship how rare!

Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!

But we, though soon they fall,

Survive their joy and all

Which ours we call.


Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,

Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day,

Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.

Mutability. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. ii. 2 how, Boscombe MS. || too, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 5 though soon we, or so soon they, Rossetti conj.



FAR, far away, O ye
Halcyons of Memory,
Seek some far calmer nest
Than this abandoned breast!
No news of your false spring
To my heart's winter bring;
Once having gone, in vain
Ye come again.


Vultures, who build your bowers
High in the Future's towers,

Withered hopes on hopes are spread!

Dying joys, choked by the dead,

Will serve your beaks for prey

Many a day.



THE waters are flashing,
The white hail is dashing,
The lightnings are glancing,
The hoar-spray is dancing —

Lines. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

The Fugitives. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

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And she cried, "Ply the oar;

Put off gayly from shore!

As she spoke, bolts of death

Mixed with hail specked their path

O'er the sea.

And from isle, tower and rock,
The blue beacon cloud broke
And though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast
From the lee.


"And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou?

And see'st thou, and hear'st thou ?

And drive we not free

O'er the terrible sea,
I and thou?"

One boat-cloak did cover
The loved and the lover;
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low;

While around the lashed Ocean,
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered and shifted
To and fro.


In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,

Like a bloodhound well beaten

The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame ;

On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit,
Stands the gray tyrant father;
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame;

And with curses as wild
As e'er clung to child,

He devotes to the blast

The best, loveliest, and last
Of his name!

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